Turning To Black
by tazocin
Summary: AU after OoTP. With the Order beginning to control Harry's life, he develops an unhealthy addiction and an unlikely friendship. When Harry is given the choice to avenge his Godfather and join Voldemort, will he take the offer? Slash eventually (HPxDM). Rated M for DSH, Drug Use and Mature Themes
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I don't own Harry Potter

**Title: **Turning to Black

**Warnings: **None in this Chapter

**Prologue**

He could feel the weight of someone else's skin resting in his palm. The wooden door pressed into his back, and he imagined they were holding one another; clinging on for life. He dreamed the other was touching his face, gazing into his eyes, leaning forward to ghost their lips…

"Harry," the voice, melancholy and haunting.

Opening his eyes, Harry revelled in his dream. His fairytale stood with wings of golden light and a halo of fire. The raven-haired boy smiled honestly. He loved her truly, with everything. Stepping forward, Harry bent his head, reaching down to cup her face.

She took a step backwards.

"Harry…" her voice was soft, but somehow reminded the black-haired boy of an oxymoron; laced without regrets.

He realised with a jolt where the meeting was heading.

Green eyes stared out, waiting for the blow he was still only half-expecting. He wanted to say something; ask why, but he knew his voice would fail and so he ignored the question in the redhead's eyes, choosing to look at his feet. He was glad he'd gone with the black shoes; it would be harder to see the tears on the already shiny surface when they fell.

"You knew this could never work out between us, right?" she offered her condolences; they were falsely dripping from the words.

Still, he continued to ignore the red-haired beauty in front of him. He couldn't speak; he was at a loss for words – he'd thought it could work. He'd spent nights making plans for the future – where they'd live, what they'd do…

"Right, Harry? You knew that, right?" the smooth voice hitched up a notch, worried.

Closing his eyes, images flashed across Harry's mind – memories of the time he'd spent with his true love. He knew that if Ginny were ending it now, there'd never be another chance for Harry to be happy. Harry knew he'd always remember the way he shivered when Ginny's hands ran down his sides. The fierce passion and love he'd thought he'd seen in Ginny's deep eyes would forever haunt him. Harry's breath hitched in his throat and he knew he had to leave; he didn't want to cry in front of Ginny if she was unwilling to show that emotion back.

"Yeah. Sure, Ginny. I knew that," he'd wanted to leave it there and swallow back the hysterical screams clawing at his throat, "I knew that we'd never get a house by the sea. And that I'd never come home to see your face smiling at me, and that I'd never hear you whisper sweet _nothings _my ear. I knew I'd never hold your hand when I'm old…"

Harry's voice wilted away, tears cascading down his cheeks. With a weak half-smile, in an attempt to show Ginny he hadn't meant anything he'd just said, he turned on his heel, opened the door to the corridor and ran.

He'd half hoped Ginny would run after him, screaming 'April Fools' but it was only October. His fairytale, his saviour, his angel, let him go.

If it hadn't been for the furious protests of the Fat Lady, Harry would've carried on running straight into her. He stopped, tears streaming down his face and choked out the password. He knew people he knew had seen him running like a maniac, and yet he didn't care. Desperation for the sanctuary of the dormitory was so much more forward in his mind. When the portrait hole swung open, Harry rubbed his hand across his eyes, dropped his head to the floor and speed walked through the space, planning to go unnoticed.

"Harry, mate!" Ron's voice was a tone of worry that he'd only ever heard his friend use for his… heartbreaker of a sister, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just need to…" waving his hand in the direction of the staircase, the black-haired boy concentrated on making sure his tone was even.

Ron stood up; the green-eyed teen saw it happen out of the corner of his eye. Footsteps followed him up stone staircase and Harry willed them to go away. No matter how long he'd known Ron; no matter how much of a friend he was – Harry didn't want to talk to him. The brother of the girl who'd just wrecked his life? No. He opened the door to the dormitory and dove onto his bed, yanking the red curtains around himself in double quick time.

He knew – he heard himself – he was crying hysterically, but let the illusion form in his mind that he was being simply muffled to the outside world by the cushion he'd pressed to his face.

**A/N: **Well, that's it for the prologue to this story. R&R as you see fit. :)


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I don't own Harry Potter

**Title: **Turning to Black

**Warnings: **None in this Chapter

**Chapter 1**

When he awoke the next morning, the hero of the wizarding world did not feel any better. He wished he could close his eyes and forget everything. For a single moment, he even wished he'd never got on the train to Hogwarts all those years ago. That thought only lasted a second, however.

A billow of steam escaped from the bathroom adjoined to the dormitory. Ron stepped out. His red hair was wet and loose, dripping down his chest and he had wrapped around his waist a towel the shade of grass on a winter morning.

"Morning Harry," Dean said, from where he was sitting up in bed reading a West Ham annual.

Ron's eyes flashed over to Harry quicker than a nano second. His face tore in two as soon as their eyes collided. Harry couldn't understand Ron's predicament. Ginny had broken up with Harry for no reason. Ron shouldn't have felt conflicted.

"Listen, mate," he began and the rest of the remaining dorm mates quickly evacuated the area for the common room, "I… Ginny told me. I mean. It's not like… Okay. I'm no good at this. It's just… I mean… How are you holding up?"

Ron was dancing in the middle of the dormitory, blatantly trying to decide if it was a good idea to comfort his best friend physically or let the green-eyed boy simmer

"Fine. I'm fine," Harry lied through his back teeth, and tied the words with a smile.

"You sure? You were pretty cut up about it last night…"

"I'm fine, Ron. I swear."

With that, Harry got out of bed, grabbed his towel from where it was screwed up on top of his trunk and claimed the shower before Ron could continue his interrogation, or before any of his other roommates could return.

The next few days were hell. He spent his time floating through his classes, barely making sense of the world around him. Constantly, he felt like breaking down and when he was alone, he spent most of his time in that broken state, relieving Ginny's words of heart break. To the Wizarding saviour, it felt as though each breath, each forced, beaten inhalation was breaking his heart into more tiny pieces.

Harry sat in Defence against the Dark Arts. Something was being discussed between the students and the professor at the front of the room, but Harry couldn't focus. It felt as though he was in a sea, with water pressing down on him from every direction. Sinking, he tried to keep his breathing even and concentrate on the topic of dark arts. Glancing at Hermione's book beside him, he realised they'd moved on from the beginning of the chapter. Flipping the pages ten or so to the correct place, he copied down the words on the chalk board. A girl laughed in the corner with her friends. Seamus was asking a question. Draco Malfoy and his fellow Slytherins were scrawling words across their parchment, quills moving in sync. Everything was irritating him, down to the way Hermione tapped her fingers on the desk, something she often did when someone else got answer she knew wrong. He put his hands over his head, lacing his fingers and ground his teeth.

It was Ron's hushed whispers to Hermione that sent him over the edge. That distinct flash of red hair, coupled with the mention of Ginny's name caused Harry to moan loudly in pain, slam his head down on the wooden table, and press his hands into his ears.

"Potter's finally done it!" Malfoy exclaimed, pleased as he turned round at the noise, "He's gone mad!"

"Harry?" Hermione shook Harry's shoulder lightly, and when he didn't reply, she shook him a little harder.

She could feel his shoulders moving, and heard a tiny sob. Appealing softly once more to her best friend, Hermione ran her hand down his back soothingly. In his head, Harry could feel the sea pressing down on him. There was an undesirable urge to cry and scream, but he knew better than to reveal such weakness in front of so many enemies. Instead, he turned away from his misery and turned the restless energy into violent rage. He stood with a yell, pushing Hermione's hand away, and with one sweep of his wand, blew all the glass jars from their shelves on the walls. They smashed, causing their contents to explode onto the floor. Glass glinted in the lazy winter sun. Creatures scuttled away, and liquids seeped into the flagstone. Students were shocked, and some jumped up onto their benches with a screech.

As the professor turned in a black curl of robes to punish the offender, he came up empty, as the Boy who Lived had already fled the scene, leaving beside the door, the bloody in print of his knuckles.

Hermione looked on at her friend from the clandestine safety of the invisibility cloak in sadness. She'd been worried about the extent of her friend's depression. He had not eaten properly in three weeks; he took a bite out of an apple in the common room yesterday morning. Rarely he entered the Great Hall and he walked around the school like a ghost without emotion. Even cold, harsh greasy Snape had had trouble finding reasons to punish the boy.

Harry was in the astronomy tower. He'd left the trapdoor open only so he didn't get locked in. That was how Hermione followed him unbeknownst. She'd been tracing his movements since his outburst in Defence against the Dark Arts, using his cloak as cover. At first she'd been worried that Harry was angry, bound to do something with venom, but now brown eyes watched the boy stare at nothing on the wall with large viridian eyes; desperate and distraught. It pulled at her heart to know her friend was in so much pain.

Racked with guilt, she thought back to the time Ginny had come to confide in her. The Order had demanded Ginny break up with Harry, she'd said. He was the saviour of the Wizarding world; he didn't need distractions and anyway… it was dangerous for Ginny to be so closely involved with someone who had a mental link to the Dark Lord himself. Hermione had tried to convince Ginny that breaking up with Harry wouldn't be in her best interests, but Ginny had cast her off; said Harry would understand. To the clever witch, it seemed Harry hadn't understood at all. Hermione wondered if Ginny had realised the effect that the break up had had on the saviour of the wizarding world. After all, two days after the relationship had ended, and Ginny had deemed there to have been enough time to mourn, she promptly began spending a lot of extra time with Ernest Hewing from Hufflepuff. Ginny didn't even seem to notice the depth of Harry's depression.

The bushy-haired girl was so caught up in her web of thoughts that she barely realised that Harry Potter had moved from the wall to the window ledge where he balanced uneasily on the thin row of stones with out a care, looking out into the night. Her breath hitched in her throat. If Harry fell, from this height, he'd surely die. If she jumped up threw off the cloak and screamed "NO" she ran the risk of starling Harry. He'd lose his footing and slip off the ledge.

She considered her possibilities. She loved her friend, and fear was rising as she watched Harry lean forward. If he jumped, she could never forgive herself - or Ginny. A rock slipped under Harry's feet and fell off the window ledge. Hermione never heard it hit the ground. The saviour of the wizarding world grasped the side of the window, and Hermione took this as a sign that Harry didn't really want to fall, didn't really want to die.

Carefully, the witch pulled the invisibility cloak off herself, and laid it on the floor. She stood up, trying not to creak any floor boards and made her way over to the window ledge. Gently, she thought, would be the best way to approach the situation.

"Harry," she kept her voice soft, low and touched his shoulder lightly, "what are you doing?"

He turned towards her, pinned her with his eyes. They were dark, haunted, and as Harry looked at his best friend for an unknown length of time, they began to shine with unshed tears. The witch slid her hand down Harry's arm and linked her fingers with his. Cautiously, she led him off the ledge, onto safer ground, and enveloped him into a hug.

Hermione had read about depression. She knew the signs to look out for; a change in appetite, a sad depressed mood, a change in activity level and suicidal thoughts to name a few, and yet no book in the world could set her up for how to help a friend so wracked with the disease. There was no spell to pull Harry out of this (she'd searched for hours in the library after Ginny had confided in her in case this was the outcome). She wasn't the person, who could help Harry, though she desperately wanted to be.

"Harry, I think…" she started, pulling back from the hug to watch his face, "I think that you need to see… someone. Get some help. Maybe Madam Pomfrey?"

"No. I'm fine," Harry said, defiance suddenly set into his face, "I just wanted to look outside. I don't need any help from anyone."

Harry pushed his hands out of her grip and watched her face play out the emotions of shock and distress. Then Harry did what Ginny had done to him, and walked away.

In side his head, Harry played over the night. He didn't know how long Hermione had been spying on him, but he guessed it could have been a few weeks. If she was getting worried about his behaviour, then how long would it be before other people – people he couldn't afford to know – noticed his strange behaviour. He pondered the idea of Dumbledore discovering that Harry felt so dead inside, and shivered. If Dumbledore found out, Harry would have to talk about how he felt. And talking about Ginny would release all those emotions he'd been bottling. Talking about Ginny would make it real and make him weak.

He resolved to start trying to act normal again, to start trying to move on and make amends in his life. Or at least, make a show of acting this way. Harry couldn't forget the rush that screamed inside of him as he stood on that window ledge, but the others couldn't know that. Hermione was too prying. She would know he still felt depressed, so he had to act happy and carefree.

As he reached his dormitory, after realising he'd already given the Fat lady her password; he glanced around the room. Ron, his best friend, snored softly. Ron, his best friend, who had tried his best to play two sides of a battle by sticking by Ginny and sticking by Harry. He felt an anger rise from within, and he quickly pushed it away, uncertain.

Harry drew the curtains around his bed and got into it. As he lay there, he recalled the thrill when the slate slipped from the window ledge. He recalled watching it drop into the darkness, and recalled grasping the side of the window, to see if he could see the slate broken in two. As he lay there, covered by his blood red quilt, he asked himself; "would I have really jumped," and was not surprised to find the answer was yes.

Harry woke up the next morning, moaned inwardly that he had to suffer another day, and began to roll the quilt over his head. Then he stopped. He heard the dormitory door open, and footsteps come into the room. The steps were joined by another, and he saw shadows agaisnt the red of his curtains. He stilled, and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, but the two owners of the footsteps didn't rip the curtains open.

"He's not well, Ron," Hermione said, "If I hadn't been there last night, we wouldn't have a Harry this morning."

"Look," Ron fired back, "This isn't Ginny's fault. Harry should never have got so obsessed with my Ginny."

The raven-haired boy twisted his fingers around his sheets and bit down hard on them. Ginny was to blame. She broke up with him.

"Harry's our friend," she said, exasperated, "He's sick and he needs help. Whether or not Ginny is to blame, Harry's still ill."

Harry listened to them talk about him. He heard Hermione repeatedly bring up the idea that Harry was suicidal, and Ron brush her off, saying Harry would never do anything so stupid. After what seemed like an age, Hermione made to draw back the curtains, and Harry squeezed his eyes, evened his breathing.

He felt the dip in his mattress as Hermione sat down next to him, her fingers reaching out to comb his unruly hair.

"There," Ron said, "He looks perfectly fine."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and continued to coax her fingers through her best friend's hair. She felt like Harry needed some mothering.

"Harry, Harry?" she murmured, trying to rouse him from his 'sleep'.

Harry remembered his promise to himself to act outwardly as though everything was okay as he made a show of yawning and stretching.

"Hi, Hermione," he put on his best early morning confused voice.

"How are you this morning, Harry?" she asked, concerned.

Ron stood off to the side, arms folded, looking severely annoyed at Hermione.

"I'm fine," Harry said, daring a glance in her eyes, "honestly. I've never felt better. Sure as hell fancy a shower though."

He pulled back the covers, and made to get up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and grabbed his towel from the trunk. As he walked to the shower, he heard the creak of his bed as Hermione stood up.

"It was probably nothing last night, Herm," Ron said, walking with her to the dormitory door.

Harry heard no more. Pressing the button for the shower, Harry stepped under the warm spray. He grabbed a bar of soap off the side, washed, and then sank down to the floor under the water.

After refusing for several minutes to leave the heat of the shower, Harry reluctantly turned off the spray and wrapped his towel around his waist. He spent a while longer in the bathroom, trying to listen if anyone was in the dormitory. When he deemed the room next door to be empty, he opened the door with a cloud of steam.

He dressed slowly, made his bed, and tamed the curtains on his bed. Pulling out his potions textbook from his trunk, he resolved to spend his Sunday by the lake writing the 5ft potions essay that he had to write before Tuesday's double. To make Hermione think he was happy and all right again, he would ask her for help later that night. He unhooked his cloak from the hook next to his bed.

Gathering up a few quills, some parchment and an inkpot, he left the dormitory and made his way into the common room. Thankfully, there were only a few people in the room, and most only gave him a mere glance. Hermione, on the other hand, jumped up, her face unreadable, and ran over to Harry.

"Are you okay?" she pestered.

"I'm just gonna go write this potions essay. If I get stuck later, I can copy… I mean ask for your help?"

Hermione's face broke into a safe smile and the girl nodded. Over the back of the sofa in front of the fire, Harry saw Ron looking at him, with the same potion essay spread out in front of him. Harry nodded to him, the male equivalent of a hello, and left the common room.

The corridor outside the common room was cool, and Harry made his way down the stone staircases to the first floor. The entrance doors were open, with students littering in and out. Through the gap, Harry could see the trees creaking and swaying with the strength of the wind. He pulled his cloak tightly around himself and made to go outside.

It was late November, and the ground was dusted with the remains of last week's snow. The wind kept whipping up the flakes and settling them elsewhere. There was a lazy layer of ice balancing on the edges of the lake, a sheet that was surely crack if anyone stepped too far onto it. In the distance, Harry could see a few first years daring one another to go further and further onto the ice. Turning his back on them, Harry came to a bench, brushed off the few remains of snow and settled himself onto the cold wood.

In scrawls, Harry wrote the title of the essay. He wished he had brought his gloves; the cold November air bit into his fingers. Opening the correct page of his textbook, Harry read over the relevant material, his mind occupied with nothing but potions. The boy became absorbed, more than he ever had before, in potions, answering the essay question with little trouble. Once he had finished, and his mind had nothing to concentrate on again, he began to feel alone and miserable again. He scanned the plane of the grounds with his eyes, desperate for anything to focus on that would take away the thoughts of Ginny.

His eyes were drawn to a figure walking towards the forbidden forest. A student, he concluded from the height, but he couldn't be sure which house they belonged to. He was always wary of figures stumbling around towards the forbidden forest since Professor Quirrell way back in his first year. Harry watched intently as the student reached the edge of the forbidden forest, and a second figure appeared from behind the tress to meet the student. A very short conversation ensued, for which Harry wished he had one of Fred and George's extendable ears. The second figure's face was obscured from view by a thick hooded cloak, but they too looked like a student. Harry watched as an exchange occurred; the first student passed over a glittered circle, much like a galleon, and the second figure, in return, handed over something in a brown paper bag. The two figures departed in opposite directions; the second figure back into the forbidden forest, and the first back towards the castle.

Harry should have been alarmed at the exchange he had just witnessed; perhaps the dark lord was communicating with students and passing out weapons to use agaisnt Harry. He was just about to get up, and go tell Dumbledore about the exchange when the figure returned from the forbidden forest and made it's way up towards the castle. The student was closer now, and if they turned their face just an inch towards Harry, he would be able to identify them. Just then, someone came running towards the figure, with long brown hair, falling in tresses down their back.

Being close enough to hear their conversation, Harry pretended once again to be engrossed in his potion essay and listened intently.

"What have you got today? I've got two Galleons and a Knut. I'll take anything. Just please," said the brown-haired girl; she sounded desperate.

The figure in the cloak grabbed her arms harshly and looked around, so quickly Harry couldn't see their face. Harry looked down at his paper.

"Stupid girl," it said, "not here in the open."

The voice was familiar to Harry; he could almost bet his life that the person in a cloak was someone in his year. He was curious as to what couldn't occur in the open. When he glanced back up, the figure was walking towards the castle, with the brown haired girl following a little way behind.

He wanted to follow them, but decided that following the two would make it obvious that Harry had been watching. One for a mystery to be solved, Harry resolved to return to the bench next Sunday and see if the same strange occurrences happened. After all, a mystery would keep his mind off Ginny. If he wasn't thinking about Ginny, he could at least act normal.

Collecting his things, and folding his essay into four, he got up from the bench and made his own way back to the castle.

**A/N: **I hope everyone had lovely holidays. Review as you see fit.


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